by Steven Brust
“I can get a message there.”
“We’ll be waiting.”
He and Ibronka gave us each a bow. I called Melestav to escort them out of the office, then went back to my flat, found the tiassa still wrapped in its cloth, and brought it back.
Kragar, having finished guiding Omlo, had returned. I gave it to him with instructions to write up a description and have a psiprint done. He said, “It’s a pretty thing, Vlad. Sure you’re willing to lose it?”
“It’s in a good cause,” I said. “Get the material to Omlo, then send him on his way.”
“Right.”
“You know what to do with the case?”
“Yep.”
“Good, then.”
“By the way, Vlad, I didn’t want to contradict you in front of the civilians, but the tags weren’t worn on the shoulders. Around the wrist like a bracelet.”
I stared at him. “You mean, I was right about where the term comes from? I was just making it up.”
“I know,” he said. “So am I.”
“Be funny if we were right.”
“Not that funny.”
“If you were in town after a successful robbery, where would you go to spark the dark?”
“Somewhere not in town.”
“Right. Failing that?”
“I don’t know. Someplace not too low, not too high. Big enough for a party, but—”
“Not in general. Name the place.”
“What do I win if I guess it?”
“Loiosh won’t eat you.”
“I don’t think you can guarantee—”
“Can’t pass that up.” He shrugged. “The Flagpole?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that should work. Good call.”
He glanced at Loiosh through narrowed eyes. “You heard that, right?”
“Tell him I think he’s really cute when he acts tough.”
“I think I won’t.”
Kragar left me alone. I laid out a map of the city, and drew circles over the two significant places, then a line connecting them. I studied the various paths until I had one that would work, then went back out onto the streets, heading for Malak Circle, feeling pretty happy about things. I knew what everyone was supposed to do, and we had even gotten started. The only things that were a little hazy were the consequences, and I’ve never especially concerned myself with those.
I took my time walking across town until I reached the Flagpole, a public house that overcharged for everything. I went in, received scowls because I was human or Jhereg or both, and studied the place.
First of all, yes, it felt right: if I had to bet on some particular place checking for tagged coins, I’d be willing to lay good odds on this one. From the look of things, its fortunes had changed a few times over the centuries. The main room was a big square, with a large bar forming a circle, with an island in the middle full of glasses and bottles. There were a lot of windows, all of them big and with the look as if they’d once had glass. The tables were of varying sizes and quality; same with the chairs. The floor was cracked and chipped marble, and the place smelled of ales and pilsners. There were nine patrons at six tables, Teckla except for a pair of Chreotha. All of them were old. It seemed about right for the middle of the day in a place that didn’t serve food.
There were two hosts—no doubt there would be more when the place was busier. One of them was kind enough to pour me a cup of stout. I found a table, sat, and pretended to drink the awful stuff while I looked around.
Yes, there were decent escape routes. The Phoenix Guards would come in the main door. They might have one covering the back, but that wouldn’t matter; it would take too many of them to secure all the windows, and even if they tried, the Dog-man would see it in plenty of time. If we had bad luck, and there were already guards in the place, it would be even easier, because the door would be available. Good.
It took me about a minute to learn everything I had to, but I stayed for a while because not to would have attracted attention. There were no convenient floor plants to dump the stout into, so I forced myself to drink half of it. I should have asked for more money for this job.
I left the Flagpole and headed back to my office, thinking about Cawti.
I need to tell you about the place they jumped me. Right about where Garshos connects with North Garshos there is an area where, because of some strange confusion or dispute among the lords of the city, a stretch of some sixty or seventy feet is not actually part of any district. The only effect of this is that the row of three apartment buildings there—three, three, and four stories, respectively—has no effective garbage pickup. The garbage builds up in one corner, just off Garshos, until, usually once or twice a week, they burn it. The rest of the time, it stinks. When they’re burning it, it stinks, too. Not my favorite part of town.
It was stinking pretty bad that day, because the pile was ten or eleven feet high. There were two Jhereg toughs hidden behind it. Across the street from the trash heap, there was a grocer’s with an open front; the other two Jhereg were inspecting vegetables, with their backs to me about ten feet away. For a job that had to have been done with minimal planning, it wasn’t a bad set-up.
The two of them turned around; presumably they had a lookout giving them timing, but I never saw him. I did see the first pair of Jhereg tough guys start turning toward me, and then things happened fast.
“Two behind you, Boss. I’m on ’em.”
I took a step toward them, because stepping into an attack always throws off the other guy’s timing and distance. I had time to notice that they were carrying lepips, which meant they wanted to beat me, not kill me. I would have been relieved if I’d had time.
I pulled a knife from each boot and tossed them underhanded at the two in front of me—one missed, the other poked a guy in the side; both of them flinched. I drew my blade and slashed at the nearest, ruining his pretty face, which gave me time to skewer the other in the middle of his body. He dropped his lepip and doubled over; must have gotten a good spot. I slashed at the first again, but missed when he fell backward.
I took the opportunity to turn around, which was just as well; one of them had gotten past Loiosh and was coming at me. I didn’t like the idea of his heavy lepip against my little rapier, so I pulled three shuriken from inside my cloak and sent them in his direction. One shuriken scratched his forehead, one missed, and the last almost clipped Loiosh’s wing where he was tagging around the other one’s head.
“Boss.…”
“Sorry.”
The scratch on the forehead was enough to disorient the guy a little. It got worse for him when I raised my rapier like I was going to bring it down on his head, and even worse when I let a dagger fall into my left hand and then put it into his stomach. He indicated that he was no longer interested in the contest, though he didn’t say it in so many words.
I turned toward the one who’d fallen over. He was just starting to get up. I raised my weapon and said, “Don’t.” He looked at me, then relaxed again. That left the one Loiosh was dancing with. I turned my attention to that one, but he was running away as fast as he could.
I took a couple of steps forward and stood over the one lying on his back. I don’t think I’d have known him even if his face weren’t bleeding, not to mention contorted; he didn’t look very happy. I put the point of my rapier at his left eye and said, “Feel like telling me who gave the orders?”
He was vehement in the expression of his feelings; no, he didn’t feel like telling me anything. The others wouldn’t either; it was a waste of time to ask them, so I cleaned my blade on his cloak, patted his shoulder, and walked away.
“Who, Boss?”
“I’m wondering that myself.”
I checked my clothing as well as I could; it had come out of it more or less intact, but I stopped at the fountain near Boiden Square Market and splashed some water on my face. I wasn’t shaking too bad, and after standing in the market for half an hour or so the shaking was gone co
mpletely.
“Any idea how to figure it out, Boss?”
“Not yet.”
I went back to the office and nodded to Melestav, who nodded back. I guess there were no visible signs of what I’d just been through or he’d have raised his eyebrow or something. I sat behind my desk, told myself I was fine, and spent a few hours dealing with business and trying not to worry too much about how Omlo was doing with Feorae or who had just wanted to inflict harm on me, and why. I did spend some time thinking about how I was going to play it with Foxy after it went down, but I couldn’t come to any hard conclusions; some things you just can’t plan until you get there. And there were still too many things I didn’t know.
Omlo returned early in the evening. He came sauntering into my office like a Dzurlord into a parlor. He had the dark complexion, narrow eyes, and wore the black clothing of a Hawklord. He looked good. “Ah, Lord Taltos,” he said, before I could open my mouth. “I suppose you’d like to hear the results of my little venture.” He pulled a chair up close to my desk, sat in it, and put his feet up. It would have annoyed me if it weren’t so funny, especially when he yawned.
I kept my face straight and said, “If you’d be good enough to tell me, m’lord.”
He blushed and dropped character and said, “He went for it, my lord. It went almost perfectly.”
“Almost?”
“He met my price too easily; I should have asked for more money.”
I chuckled. “Good work. Take a moment to relax, and we’ll go over your next part—it’s the tricky one.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
I stuck my head out of the office and had Melestav send word to Ironstone Manor for the rest of the crew to be here in the morning; then I returned to Omlo and said, “So, how was it?”
He smiled bashfully. “I may change careers, m’lord.”
I grinned. “You like being a confidence artist?”
“An actor.”
“Ah. A bit of a drop in money and prestige, but I suspect you’ll do well. I can probably give you some help with that, in fact.”
“My lord? Are you serious?”
“Are you?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“Then so am I,” I told him.
“My lord,” he said, “I’d be very grateful.”
“It’s nothing. No trouble for me. Meantime, let’s work up the next part. We have a day to get ready, so let’s be at it. The timing is tricky, but it shouldn’t be too tricky.”
He nodded. “I’m ready, m’lord.”
“All right, we’ll start with the transfer. Here’s how it’s going to work.…”
In an hour he had it. In two, he was good at it. So we kept at it for about six, with a break for some food. During the break, Omlo said hesitantly, “My lord?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you mean it? About helping me?”
“With an acting career? Sure. There are two companies that operate in this area, and they both like the idea of me being well disposed toward them.”
He made grateful sounding mutters for a while.
I said, “But you know, the theater isn’t the same as just putting on a role like you did today, or like you’ve been doing. Having a big audience is different.”
“I know, my lord. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time, though. Ever since my paener used to take me to the Marketday Players on Settler.”
I nodded. “What House are you, Omlo? I mean, when you aren’t pretending?”
“Chreotha, my lord.”
“I’m surprised.”
“My lord?”
“You said that before, in front of the civilians. I just assumed you were lying.”
“My lord? Why?”
I shrugged. “So, what do your people do?”
“My father does ceramics, my mother works with pewter.”
“And you ended up in one of my brothels.”
“My lord?”
“It’s just a curious thing, that’s all. What do you think our friends are up to?”
“My lord?”
“Blue-boy and Ibronka. What do you think their game is?” He looked blank, so I said, “Don’t worry, I don’t expect you to know; I’m mostly thinking aloud. Wondering what they really want.”
“You think they lied to you, m’lord?”
“I know they lied about some things, so that makes me think they’re lying about more.”
“My lord, what did they lie to you about?”
I started to answer, but stopped before the words were out of my mouth. “What did he lie to you about?”
“My lord?”
“You didn’t ask what he lied about, you asked what he lied to me about. I want to know what he lied to you about.”
“Oh. He said he didn’t know anything about the life, my lord.”
“He was lying? You’ve seen him?”
“The two of them, in the house, the Couches.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
The question seemed to surprise him. “My lord, we never publicly recognize a num unless the num invites us to. That’s just, that’s how it works.”
“Hmm. All right. But you did see them?”
“A few times in passing. I never entertained them.”
“When were they there?”
He squinted. “The first time, maybe half a year ago. Then two or three times after that. The last time was last month. Not since then.”
“Who entertained them?”
“Neritha. She was good with threesomes.”
“What can you tell me about her?”
“I think she’s a Tsalmoth. She started there three years ago, just after I did.”
“What’s she like?”
He rubbed his chin. “Nice enough, but kind of hard. Not the kind who was making a career of it, but more like she wanted to get a score together and go somewhere.”
“She’s still there?”
“No, my lord. I haven’t seen her in, I think, about three months. She was just gone one day. I heard she was caught stealing from nums.”
“I’ll bet H’noc loved that. Any word on what he might have done to her?”
“No, my lord.”
“She have a pimp?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Addicted to anything?”
He shook his head.
I nodded. “So, that answers some questions. And asks some more. I’ll total them up later and see which is higher. Just a minute.”
I left him there while I found Kragar, to whom I said, “I don’t think you have enough to do.”
He rolled his eyes. “Vlad, you’ve already got me—”
“This one is easy. Get the story of a tag named Neritha, at the Couches, who was probably caught stealing from nums. That’s all.”
“Any reason I can’t just ask H’noc?”
“No. Yes. Try to find out some other way.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
I went back and worked with Omlo for another hour or two then let him go, confident that he had his part down. I hung around for about an hour after that, until Kragar showed up.
He said, “The most surprising thing is that it really was simple. She was caught stealing, and—”
“How?”
“Num complained, H’noc checked it.”
“Heh. Good for him. What did he do?”
“Broke her arms, broke her legs, gave her a case of the drips, and kicked her.”
“The drips. Nasty. When did this happen?”
“Nine weeks ago. I’m sure she’s fine by now. Do you need me to find her?”
“Set someone on it in case, but don’t put a lot into it. I’m guessing there’s no need.”
“All right. Anything else?”
“Yes. Touch Omlo and let him know I need him here early tomorrow. Real early. Seventh hour.”
“Care to grab some food after I do that?”
“Why not? Nothing e
lse to do. You paying, what with all the bonuses I just gave you?”
“Keep dreaming, Vlad.”
I didn’t see Cawti that night; she was spending time with her ex-partner, Norathar, who—no, skip it, it’s too long a story. So without her there, I passed a bitter night alone with my guilt for all the evil I’ve done. Okay, not really; I had two glasses of Fenarian brandy (because Dragaeran brandy tastes like the stuff you use to clean the klava press), read a chapter of Devin’s Trial of the Bell Ringer, and went to sleep. But I did miss her.
I got to the office very early the next day, but Omlo was there before I’d finished my second cup of klava. I had extra klava brought in for him.
“Run through it all,” I told him. “Just words. Talk it.”
He nodded, sipped his klava, and spoke in a slow, measured stream. When he was finished, I said, “Good. That’s good. You have it.”
He bobbed his head.
I had some more klava and said, “You want to make some extra money?”
He looked suspicious; it was like he was getting to know me or something.
I said, “I’ll lay it out for you. You don’t have to do this, but if you decide to, we have to go over it fast, because you need to be solid with it before the rest of the crew shows up.”
“Is it dangerous, my lord?”
I took a moment to decide how to answer; but as the Shereba players say, if you’re going to hesitate that long, pass. “Yes,” I said.
“How dangerous?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“M’lord, may I wait until you know before deciding?”
I chuckled. “That’s only fair, I suppose. The trouble is, we don’t have that kind of time. Foxy and Ibronka will be here in a couple of hours, and if you’re going to do this, you need to be solid on it by then. I don’t think the heat will go to you, and if it does, I think I can protect you. But I can’t promise. Tiassa are almost as unpredictable as Tsalmoth, and Dzur are as bad-tempered as Dragons. Do you understand?”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“So take all the time you need to decide, up to five minutes. The job pays one hundred imperials.”
His eyes widened at the amount, but greed did not instantly overcome him, the way it would have a Jhereg, or an Orca. He sat and thought about it. After about four minutes, he nodded.